


Morning After

by pidgeonpostal



Series: The RWBY Hockey AUs [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Drunk Clover Ebi, Drunken Confessions, Hockey Goalie Qrow Branwen, Hockey Player Clover Ebi, Hungover Clover Ebi, M/M, Qrow isn’t drunk he just is the exact opposite of a morning person, Sharing a Bed, Sober Qrow Branwen, friends to lovers speedrun, nondescript Remnant hockey championship trophy, rated for swearing and one kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28354827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeonpostal/pseuds/pidgeonpostal
Summary: Clover wakes up in bed with a hangover, the Cup, and his goalie.Oneshot unrelated to the others in the series.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: The RWBY Hockey AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016287
Comments: 17
Kudos: 65





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> I had a smidge of Hockey AU left in me while I was in the mood for some more trope filled love confessions, as I often am.
> 
> Let the record show that I wanted to add "when you platonically love someone and then realize that actually you would like to smooch them as well thank you very much" as a tag but it was unreasonably long.

The first thing Clover realized upon waking up was that he was horrifically hungover, but the first thing he remembered was why. They won the cup. They won the  _ fucking cup. _ Clover was hungover and his skull was going to split open but the Atlas Aces were  _ world fucking champions  _ and he couldn’t have been happier.

It was that energy that made it possible for him to open his eyes against the morning sunlight filtered through the hotel windows to see what the damage was from the night before. He was in a bed, which was a good start. Well. Not under the covers but  _ on _ a bed, certainly, and if his vague memory of shots the night before was any indication of how things had gone, that was still a win.

_ The cup. _ As soon as Clover’s head stopped hurting he was going to figure out where it was, he wanted to see it again and prove to himself that this was really happening.

There was something shiny in his peripheral vision. Gravity pulled his head down to the right and ah, there it was. They added another ring to it every time they needed more space to inscribe the winners’ names, and the cup was pretty huge at this point, almost half Clover’s height. Decades of champions looked back at him across the shining silver surface. Clover scanned them, not awake enough to commit them to memory but—

A long, pale hand was draped over the next row of names.

Clover shouted and fell off the bed. “Ow,” he said weakly.

The bed rustled. “Shaddup, Cloves. ‘S too early.”

Oh no. Clover knew that voice. It was usually louder, because he had to be heard over the ice, but it was the same low, gravelly voice he listened for in games.

With a groan of effort, the enormous trophy rolled to the edge of the bed, threatening to roll off and onto Clover. Instead, two pale arms flopped over it to hold it steady, and then a mess of black-and-grey bedhead lifted up from behind it. Pale red eyes glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Wha’ are you doing down there at ten in th’ morning?” Qrow slurred.

Clover almost wished the cup had squished him instead. Qrow Branwen, his beloved goalie and  _ professional coworker he was not supposed to be in love with, _ was blinking blearily down at him from a bed that, up until a minute ago, they’d both been in.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What had happened last night? “Qrow, what are, uh, you doing here?”

“Oh. Right.” Qrow rubbed his eyes, and his next words sounded a little more awake. “We didn’t, uh, do anything, or anything.”

“Thank the gods,” Clover rasped. He sounded about as flattened as he felt, but he owed Qrow this. Qrow didn’t drink. If Qrow was here, he’d probably had to wrangle Clover’s drunk ass up the elevator from the bar. “Even so, if I did anything to make you uncomfortable—”

Something swam up to the surface of his throbbing headache.  _ I love you so much, man.  _ Clover had said that. To who?

Oh gods, had he said it to  _ Qrow? _

_ Yeah Cloves, I know, you said. _

_ No, no like, not like hockey love, like. Love. Love you. _

_ Yeah, we gotta get you to bed. Up you go. Gods, you’re heavy. _

Qrow, bathed in searing light, looking down at him with horrendous bedhead like something out of his fantasies, rolled his eyes. “Lucky Charm, there’s only enough room on this team for one guilt complex and I called dibs. You got drunk celebrating, told everyone how much you loved them, and I got you back to your room to sleep it off. Nothing else happened. See this?” Qrow rapped his beautiful knuckles on the cup. “This was your chaperone for the evening. Nothing gets past ‘em.”

_ You’re really not gonna let go of that thing. Well, sweet dreams, Cloves. _

_ Don’t leave. Please. _

Fuck. “I asked you to stay,” Clover groaned, putting a hand over his eyes to block the light and hide his shame. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to. Had to make sure you were okay.” Qrow’s voice was so gentle it hurt.

_ Yeah, okay. Probably should keep an eye on you anyway, make sure you don’t go off telling random hotel guests you love them, too. _

_ Not them. Just you. Qrow, I, I really mean it. You’re, you’re just. The best. _

_ Sure, Cloves. _

_ I’ve wanted to kiss you for months now. _

Clover didn’t have enough expletives anymore. What was he thinking!? Even if he’d wanted to say it, that was the worst possible time to do it.

_...Cloves, you don’t mean that. _

_ I do! I do. But I’ve done it all wrong. You deserve. Flowers. Date nights. _

A laugh, but a bitter one.  _ Say it sober, maybe I’ll believe you then. _

_ Okay. Promise. Love you, babe. _

Clover moved his hand from his eyes to squint up at the light. Qrow was still looking down at him, smiling fondly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something else there, something sad and oh, if Clover had done anything to put that there he’d move the world to take it back.

He recalled quiet words from across the bed, as the world faded to black.  _ Love you too, Cloves. _

Did Qrow think he didn’t mean it? Did Qrow think it was just because Qrow was nearby that Clover said those things? Clover couldn’t let this stand. It was a terrible idea and a terrible time to come clean about it. But if he waited any longer, that look in Qrow’s eyes was going to stick. He hadn’t been kidding about that guilt complex. “Qrow Branwen.”

Qrow’s eyes went comically wide.

Clover cleared his throat. “I, Clover Ebi, of sound mind and massive hangover, love you. You are the best friend I’ve ever had, the best damn goalie on Remnant, and I’d very much like to take you out to dinner when we get home.”

Qrow blinked slowly, without saying anything, and Clover lost his nerve. “I mean, if you want. Only if you want. I—”

“Have you really been wanting to kiss me for months?” Qrow asked with a straight face.

Clover swallowed, but nodded. No sense denying it now.

Qrow’s head disappeared, and there was a grunt as the long shining edge of the cup disappeared onto the bed as well. Then Qrow’s arms reappeared, then Qrow’s legs, and then Qrow’s long limbs slid him to the floor, carefully propped over Clover without putting any weight on him.

“Dinner sounds good. But I’m not waiting any longer for this.” Qrow declared, and bent down to kiss him.


End file.
